The colour of Never

    She looked at him at the  interview and thought: competition. He looked at her and thought: hope she gets in too.

They both got in, but sat at the opposite ends of the lecture hall. An unconscious segregation had taken place.  While the males set up the framework of bonding, the girls had bonded enough to decide which ones to exclude.

The lecturers were another story. No friendly overtures like: ‘come on class let us all get to know each other.’  It was more like: ‘Me Prof, you orang-utans.’ If there was any mingling it was entirely up to the students. The marketing class of ‘86.

 It was two weeks before he acted upon his irrepressible intent. She was alone on the steps of the building. She was early for a change. He was always early. It suited him. That was how he was.

 “Do you know we haven’t officially introduced ourselves”, was his opening gambit.

“Oh” she responded with breathtaking originality.

He did not dwell on his disappointment. If he was expecting subdued firework all he got was a slight blush. That was as good as it was going to get. They both knew what the other was called, just hadn’t called out to each other. He mentally photographed the delicious curve of her lower lip. She wished he had said more than nothing. There was an imbalance of purpose here. She wasn’t yet aware of it. He was happy to have broken the ice, never mind how slight the crack.

Her bus was late, he had the car. Lucky strike as it was his birthday. She said yes to a lift and he had his present.

“Your birthday! Which one?”

“22 today”

“ A whole year older than me. No birthday bash?”

“ I am the quiet sort you see. So when is your big day?”

“October 12th.” He stamped the date into his brain with indelible ink,

He parked in front of her house, but there was no invitation to come in.

She wished him again, and thanked him profusely.

 He felt his present had not been taken out of its wrapping.

“We have some interesting work here,” the professor announced. “I shall present two of them to show you how you should never collate data, and just one on how to.” The latter was his. She looked in his direction with interest. He blushed. He was too modest for his own good. She wanted to stroke his face. She was amazed at herself.

Her bus was never late again but he made bold to offer her a ride on his motor bike. She hesitated long enough to destroy a few brain cells in him forever and then said yes. He did not take her home, but  stopped on the high street and suggested a coffee. She finished off a few more of his brain cells, before saying yes again.   

“Love your style,” she offered as they found a corner.

He loved more than her style. 

Respective families were gingerly touched upon. A head count of siblings was hastily taken.  Some light was shed on each other. She had chosen marketing just to get a foot in the employment door. He was adding strings to his  bow while completing an engineering degree.

The dissection of the profs took them through two coffees and a plate of French fries. The only lull was when the clock chimed. She was late. She felt dangerously electric. He was electrocuted. Did she have to go home now?

“I’ll be killed tonight,” she laughed

“Can I be of any assistance?”

“ Yeah, make yourself scarce!”

“ If I stay do you think they’ll go for a double murder?”

“No, they’ll kill you, and give me another chance.”

“For you, Oh Lady fair it is but a small price,” he made light as alarm bells gonged in his head. 

. The classes were going strong. So was his love. She noticed how good looking he really was. She ran imaginary fingers through his thick brown hair. He wrote her letters which she never saw.

12th of October. The door bell rang. Flowers were delivered. The family interest was hard to diffuse. She pretended it was some unknown admirer. The card was safely tucked into her pocket. “ I remembered”, was the simple message, followed by, “ Love R.”

First, emotions rustled softly within her. Then, the rich pink of a luscious rosebud seemed to unfurl in her with dangerous abandon. Her parents openly frowned.

He awaited a response knowing there would be none till Monday. She was keeping a low profile.

 Monday. All her surging emotions were invisible as she said: “So nice of you to remember.”

“ How could I forget,” came from his soul.

“ I adore roses,” she added  and he saw something flicker in her amber flecked eyes.

This oblique interaction was maddening. He was not qualified for the Secret  Service.

 “Do you care at all?” He blurted.

“Care? About ?” her brain cells were dying now.

“Me.” She looked at him ,frantic but not confused. She mumbled a “see you later,” and nearly walked into the door.

He had his answer. He wasn’t expecting blank verse anyway.

The thumping heart obscured her hearing, consequently, the lectures flew over her head .

He, on the other hand, was on top form. Busy answering questions when he wasn’t asking them .The sound of his voice and the closeness of his presence highlighted her plight.

“A harmless evening course in Marketing from half five to eight” her mother had argued on her behalf. 

“I don’t know about the harmless bit,” her father had grumbled.

 “I’ll be good as gold,” she had pleaded.

“It’s very nice of your father to allow you, so behave.” her mother had warned.

“Mum, the year will pass in a blink and I’ll have that diploma.”

And here she was nearly at the end of the ride!

There was far more on her plate than An Introduction to Marketing.

“I’ve got an interview tomorrow,” he slipped in, as he stirred her coffee.

“Congrats. Who with?”

“Uni Lever.”

“Wow. Sounds great?”

“If I get it.”

“Who else can they possibly give it to?”

              “With a vote like that I can’t lose, can I?” He smiled , broke her heart and clasped her hand.

The way he came towards her two days later and dragged her away, oblivious to the others around, she knew he had got it. Their first kiss. The uncorking of strong emotions, the determined re-corking of them.

“Let’s get engaged. Tell your folks.”

“Hold it. This is happening too fast.”

“Fast, you call this fast? It’s been eight bloody months. I deserve a sainthood.”

“I know. I love you for it, but I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t even mentioned you yet.”

“So mention me. Take me home. Introduce me to your folks. I’ll do the talking.”

A slow movement from her. A distancing. A distaste for herself.

Glass shards in each step away from him. The calling of her name coming from inside her and yet far away. He could run after her. He could take her away. He could insist. He could, but would she allow him to?

They were marked absent the next evening.  

There was more to handle than Marketing.

“I tested the water last night.”

“And?”

“There are spiked walls around me.”

“I’ll climb over them.”

“You’ll get hurt.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“I have sisters.”

             “So? I have too.”

 “It isn’t the same. My actions will reflect on them”

“It is your life.”

“It is theirs as well.”

“So you just give up?”

“This is more difficult than you think.”

“For whom? You or me?”

“Both of us. All of us.”

“I am offering you everything. Is something missing?”

“Yes.”

“Enlighten me.”

“ In their eyes you are the wrong colour.”

“ Love is more than black or white.”

“We know that. But they don’t want to know.”

Next day she sat alone on the steps. She was deliberately early. He was always early. It suited him. That was how he was.

“ Can we start all over again?” he asked.

“No, today we  finish it.”   she whispered.

                                    THE END